Jan gulped, it was clear they had been caught red-handed and Laura seemed surprised the young mage would be called a talented youth. The Scrier inched forward, using magic to untighten their bonds as both a show of force and a gesture of sublimity. It would take an immense amount of strength to perform magic this close to a watcher, a terrifying quantity.

  “I don’t report to Irwain consul, I know this wasn’t some mischievous prank, you came here for a reason”

  “An alteration in the imperial census records showed the addition of Sill University?”

  The two almost writhed in shock. Forgery added to their crimes.

  “It seems to me you two came here with the idea of accessing the lower vaults, you needed accreditation and were thinking of scrounging enough money to buy a research licence later correct?”

  It seemed odd how closely she detailed events. Jan remained bound, feet barely scraping against the floor as he sat tied to the chair.

  “Listen Jan, if you wanted documents you could just ask Irwain. My sources tell me you teach him? If I am correct?”

  Shock spread across Laura’s face. A few guards overheard and uttered in hushed whispers. This was blasphemy. An archmage taught by a child no more than sixteen years old. A seat of power so corrupt it stretched lengths to imitate a forgotten image.

  “The stone is an inanimate, it used to know Crous. We were planning to raise money in the arena and access the imperial records to find out more but we were worried Irwain would take it” Jan whispered.

  For a moment the Scrier’s eyes streaked with interest, her black hair glinting in the candlelight as the two mages writhed in fear. Then to their horror, she smiled.

  “I see”

  She slowly walked towards Sill to pick up the tiny rock and shake it in her palm. Then using a small burst of magic a rune shot out from her palm to hover above the creature. In an instant, it faded with flek-like letters spraying into the distance. Jan swallowed.

  “Well, this doesn’t seem to be an inanimate, but it’s certainly unique?”

  “Mind if I peek inside?” she asked.

  “Wait no!”

  Jan was about to leap in protest when the Scrier took out a thin dagger and tried to pry open the rock’s edge. His heart welched, but soon confusion struck across Longsa’s brow as the blade warped, bending against the rock’s tough exterior.

  “Odd….”

  She tried again, this time trying to grind off a piece of Sill using the butt of her sword to no avail. The hilt resounded with every strike as the metal exterior glimmered in the candlelight.

  “Listen Jan, I believe you, but how about I make a proposition?”

  The two scribes looked at each other in confusion.

  “When I served against starlings, we would spend long tours in the Dvald mountains, thin jagged peaks populated by city-states and half-spurred mining towns. It was a world almost completely alien to the normality of Kag, a place of suspense, fear, and a mixture of bravery.

  The people barely slept at watch of relentless assault, their crops torched, villages burned by day and night. They had no true king, only a collection of council’s subservient to the Emperor and a few bands of soldiers they pleasantly called militia.”

  Jan almost began to doze. He tried to seem interested. Laura painfully nodded as one would to a rambling teacher. Anything to keep them alive.

  “Our army was the first group of professional soldiers to touch those parts, ten thousand strong and with a goal of fostering trade and mining routes in Dvald territory.”

  “I would often go to cities, all foreign despite their proximity to each other. Their culture, society, and people were warped by the mountains. They had an unseen diversity, strange variety among citizens but one thing stood in common. An affinity for pwol. From the lowliest surf to the most exuberant of the noble class they all loved the board game,” She mused.

  “Yeah, yeah, whole world loves Pwol get on with it Scrier” Laura coughed.

  Longsa gave a sharp glance before continuing.

  “It is said that inanimate, are far smarter than your average human, far better at things like pwol. A lack of external senses makes their logic sharper and their wits more refined” Longsa continued.

  “In this library, Irwain has a collection of over fifty. I have twelve lives on that shelf.”

  Even the guards seemed unnerved by this remark, especially her casual tone. Inanimates were illegal. It was worse than death, confining a soul to eternal darkness, depriving a creature of all hope, to live their days in perpetual solitude, prisoners damned to watch a world go by, unknowing, unable to alter the course of their stolen fate. Their sunken dreams were marred by the view of a world brimming with possibility yet forever out of touch.

  “Don’t worry, they’re all registered with the imperium, enemies to the state whose sentence required intervention.”

  Somehow, these words made it worse.

  “If your inanimate beats two of mine in Pwol then I let Sill University stay in the academic records, you two go free and in exchange you tell me Irwain’s plans.”

  “Where is the benefit?” Laura scoffed.

  “You're getting an easy sentence from this, Longsa replied slowly. Her eyes seemed to almost light up in an unnatural hatred at Laura’s remarks.

  ‘And if we lose?”

  “I take the inanimate, or whatever that is, and you become a spy for me. After we have gathered enough information you will enlist and take your rightful place as a Scrier.”

  “That doesn’t seem quite balanced,” Jan muttered.

  The soldier laughed. A cruel echo cut from her lips.

  “You're wasted as an academic, true glory and learning is found on the battlefield child, and I have sensed it. This city may not last long. Irwain underreports changings by the tens each day. The disease is increasing and how long before a pandemic is declared? How long before your lives depend on mine?”

  The two shuddered at this to cast glances around the shadow-lit room. Laura signalled Jan to agree, if they had any hope Sill would be able to defeat whatever horrors Longsa mustered.

  “You would have me betray my country, the emperor?” Jan spat.

  For a moment, she smiled at this.

  “Who do you think serves the Emperor child? An archmage who wormed his way to power or a Scrier who serves the holy seal?

  Her words sent shivers down their spines as two guards brought forth a slim wooden board. It fell against the table with a resounding clash, thin groves made in a maze-like formation. The rules were relatively simple. An interlocking maze would shift from either side, constantly changing as each player had complete control over the board. They were able to perform two actions by either moving a wall or moving their character a tile each being one action. Moving one maze wall would cause its original to vanish. Players would alter between moving walls to block their opponent and moving their pieces, working with a finite board to construct their own goals. This would happen simultaneously while fleeing the locus, an enchantment-controlled entity which would stun whatever player it touched for three turns and move one space each turn. However, being stunned the locust allowed a single additional move to be used at any time. Ultimately, it was a game of skill and devoid of chance. Players would balance offensive and defensive tendencies, trying to both block the locus and their enemy while striving to reach the other side.

  “Commander, I can beat them, whatever barbaric game this is, I can beat those souls,” Sill said out loud.

  Jan took no time to respond. Longsa cast an eye towards Sill, clearly interested in its design.

  “Sill, why didn’t the spell work? Wouldn’t the test be able to see if you’re inanimate?”

  “Like I said, Commander, I’m not alive I am a…”

  “I get it, I get it” Jan muttered.

  Poor thing was still traumatized by Crous’s service. There was no doubt some form of extreme modification had happened, unseen, maniacal acts driven for the sole purpose of making Sill more powerful. Perhaps Crous’s military was more sophisticated and able to let inanimate retain a magical sense. This would strive them away from the criteria of traditional detection.

  Scrier Longsa placed two inanimate on the table infront. Each was sealed in a thin iron bar. Kag bank symbols pressed into the side, almost as if to signify the soul’s material worth. It was a sickening sight, one that sent shivers down Jan’s spine. Once this was over he would find a way to flee from her control. However if what Longsa said about Irwain was true perhaps nowhere was as virtuous as he once thought.

  The pwol board felt cold against Laura’s hand. It was a large square, roughly a meter wide with three pieces, two on the same side and one in the middle. The player who went first would likely draw the locus’s initial attention. Both characters were tiny carven heroes, a caricature in the form of a wood piece no more than two inches high. Jan cast a glance at Laura nervously. Neither of them were any good at pwol. They barely had any knowledge of the game at all, only that it was a favourite among Irwain’s disciples.

  Longsa positioned herself at the opposite side, bronze armour glinting in the candlelight. She looked menacing but almost surely amused with herself, clearly using the game as a way to gage Sill’s capability without any fear of defeat. Slowly, a guard brought two the inanimate forward and she pressed her hand against them. Electricity crackled as magic flowed within them and raised the two iron bars into the waking world. They whispered in hushed tones, a gravelly nasal sound that etched with a mixture of boredom and sorrow.

  “What does it wantssss” one asked.

  They seemed almost proto-human, degraded and fractured. Broken in almost every conceivable way.

  “Describe the board Longsaaaaa” they hissed.

  “One seco……”

  “Describe the board!!!!!” the two hissed.

  “Quiet!!” Longsa screeched.

  The two rocks fell silent in an instant, obeying her command.

  She relayed the surroundings to the two pieces of metal. Taking no care and treating them as would a simple tool. Jan was horrified, surely Sill couldn’t defeat them both, it would be a slaughter.

  Laura leaned forward, picking up the piece to make a ceremonious first move but Longsa stopped her.

  “Only the inanimate,” she questioned.

  “May I ask who those were?” Laura questioned.

  “Tell her, tell her,” they squealed.

  The two iron bars seemed to hiss at this, undoubtedly conditioned to dismay their former lives. Jan couldn’t imagine how much torment they had been through. If Sill could ever hope to recover, it was unlikely to happen under Irwain’s thumb. Yet they had to have hope.

  “It’s important for me to better understand them and their motives, but you and I are spectators today,” Laura added slowly.

  “Don’t worry, Jan, these Jannics are going to be friiieeed.” Sill resounded slowly.

  Longsa seemed confused as Laura and Jan almost laughed. If they were going to die, at least the thing had enthusiasm.

  The soldier looked back, eyes tingling as she spoke.

  “One was Pender Waslin, a general for a Manchin army, the other was Wael Krin, former high priest of the Arlon council.”

  “And yours?” she asked.

  The two scribes mumbled nervously, but Sill quickly interjected.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “SILL!” it screamed,

  “Yes, the infamous Sill, a name devoid of heritage, perhaps a siftwater worker or farmer, dungfarm tender?”

  Longsa smiled. Nodding slowly as they waited for the game to begin.

  “Have you ever played before, Sill?” Longsa asked.

  “No I have not,” Sill asked.

  Jan shuddered. An inanimate that never played Pwol? That was unheard of? Practically every Wei textbook had drawings of mystic runes and scattered tomes with inanimate beings conditioned on Pwol. They were trained to follow their master’s through some mystic twist of board games of feudal punishment. Even the youngest disciple on Kag's streets would know that. Laura turned too. She grabbed paper, hoping to write instructions for Sill that only he could see. Maybe they could use Sill’s distinct eyesight to their advantage. Her hand curled around the page, fear seeping through its pale visage.

  “Kindly explain the rules to me, Jannic scum, and I am sure I will beat you,” Sill responded confidently.

  “Alright,” Longsa replied, seemingly amused.

  The words exploded through the two scribes minds. At least someone had confidence. Longsa agreed and after a minute of explanation, it began. She seemed to beam at this, relish in every dribble of word that left her mouth and into poured into Sill’s ears. She toyed with the sword at her hip as she spoke. An unconscious gesture rooted in years of both training and neglect. It was clear this was going to be a defeat worthy of history. The battle of pebblerock, the great boulder slaughter, crash of the meteorites, an avalanche crumble. Tweeol guards had a better chance fending off Wei invasion with nothing but a sharpened gourd. Yet once Longsa had finished explaining the rock let out a solitary line.

  “Beware of rock” Sill shuddered.

  Jan facepalmed. He let the embarrassment seep inwards. Against one inanimate, maybe Sill could win but two, that would be crazy, and the least he could do was ignore the cheesy lines.

  “Odd but let’s begin” She laughed.

  Laura’s face paled.

  The iron bars went first with Longsa moving the piece for them as they shouted at each other in incessant tones. They were unnervingly disturbed, hissing and spewing at an almost gibberish consistency. Jan tried to focus, shifting his hearing but it was no use, it was clear these things had invented their own form of language. Years of isolation and prolonged thought twisted their once moral words. Longsa could understand them, talking slowly as they guided her along their path. It was clear this wasn’t meant to be a balanced fight, the entire game shifted towards the Scrier’s demand.

  Six turns passed.

  Sill made some rookie errors, testing out the game’s mechanics as the two inanimate flocked for slaughter. They whispered among themselves in an even more hurried tone. Jan could sense it in the air, an almost death-like presence seeping into his and Laura’s veins.

  Yup, we're doomed.

  Sweat trickled down Jan’s spine as he watched his own hands shake. It wasn’t long before Sill issued his own orders, speaking calm one-word responses to the duo’s moves. The inanimate moved forward, shifting one wall to instantly block Sill’s character. Sill moved two, blocking the most optimal route and forcing Longsa to either move a wall or be one step closer to the locus. They responded quickly, shifting both walls and forcing Sill to face the locus. Sill retorted, moving one wall and placing the other infront of their opponent.

  Ten minutes passed.

  The game went on for what seemed like hours. The board's green-edged borders glowed for each placed wall as the characters seemed to dance across the narrow stage. Laura and Jan watched in anticipation, unable to act, barely comprehending Sill’s strategy as the creature barked order after order from its thin rocky frame. They moved to the left, right, each group spewing wall after wall as the locus etched forward. A cobweb fell against the back of Jan’s robe, making him brush his hand against the itchy brown fabric. Laura coughed, her lungs ringing out as she adjusted to the murky air. Sill was enjoying itself, uttering each move, faster, with more passion. Enthusiasm cut through the once autonomous voice, a trait barely seen in his enemy’s garbled sound. Sill took time, staying as close to the locus as possible while guiding the inanimate’s defences. Then he improved. They reacted harshly, unsettled by this gesture and kept their distance. Sill was courting death, holding hands with a piece that would doom their fate while almost laughing at the child-like inanimate. Within six moves, he had cornered them, pressing them against the game border. After eight, he swung back, moving away from the opposite side to get the locus to stray against his enemy. It was an intriguing choice, one that caused Longa’s eyes to flair. She kept her gaze firm, cold emotionless demeanour cemented in a military life. Jan could tell this was not the result she had expected. Still, it wasn’t like this would be easy.

  “Longsaaaaa” the inanimate hissed.

  “How doesss it movies soooo fasstttt”

  The question rang like clockwork through the general’s head. Jan and Laura also mused at Sill's inhuman speed. For the past ten minutes the rock seemed to only take a few seconds to decide it’s next move speaking almost instantaneously. The inanimate in contrast would take near five minutes of constant contemplation. Sadly, pwol was a game with no time limit, and Sill's advantage had little meaning. Laura shrugged but her eyes shifted forward. Her vision encompassed Sill's rocky frame and she held her breath. Something dark was in that soul.

  Regardless the inanimate were holding their ground. The two oval rocks seemed too ordinary. If not for the hissing voices they would be but paperweights stacked on oaken planks. Little slabs of granite perched upon the table’s edge yet the two could feel their presence.

  A smeared gaze peering from the shadows. She could tell they had no eyes, or perception but she could feel them. It was like daggers piercing into the back of her skin. A sharp uncomfortable sting that stretched from the inanimates location. Their souls were almost screaming out, silently grasping at those in front. Leeching toward beating hearts in the hopes to replicate something it could no longer possess.

  It weighed in the air like a stagnant stench, clinging to every hampered breath like a parasite suckling on what little life remained. Laura drew closer to place her finger upon one of the inanimate’s cracked edges. Her hand sparked back. She could feel it. The weight of their souls seeped through the rock to pool into a meshy haze. She could feel the anger and the way their screams almost bounced across the shadows, frantic to be free of an unseen cage, to move, to feel to see the beauty of a waking world. Fleeting for sight while forever transfixed in a child's painting of a world they once beloved. It was unnatural, unnerving, something undoubtedly wicked.

  Then it felt her. A seal, a lexicon of weaving strands seeping from the ground to grasp upon the soul and force it inside. Strands of the creatures constantly flecked out, tendrils flailing as they bade their escape, only to be stifled but what ever ancient magic lay within. She could feel their souls flickering to the Endless screams pattering through the waves of inky black. The two shuddered together. Sometimes it was better not being able to see magic, at least then you wouldn’t truly understand how it worked.

  Her head shifted, placing her hand on Sill to reveal no such presence. It was no wonder Longsa had cast Sill away in such few moments. Yet in a way, it was something far worse. There was soul, no trapped, plead for a paradise lost and not even a cheap imitation of magic but an empty seeping void. Either the markings of non-vibrant life, easily dominated by the runes or something far more interesting.

  Twenty minutes passed.

  The tiny rock chirped, spouting order after order as the two inanimate could barely keep up. Two soldiers leaned forward, red robes draped against the cement ground as they scanned with interest. Jan could see a few passing quands between each other. Longsa pretended not to notice. It seemed they didn’t expect Sill to get so far. From their meek expressions and curious glances, one could tell Longsa had used this tactic before.

  They were gambling

  The inanimate reacted strongly, placing more walls and seemingly nullifying their own turns while the locus got closer to their own direction. Sill waited as the piece closed in, the smooth-cut wooden figure of a bug weaving with the board's own enchantments and eerily calculating in its own regard. Jan had often wondered how it worked, how magic could make a mind, yet Irwain had reminded him of the games undertaking. How carpenters and magicians would work for countless hours on each board, making sure the locus had an indefinite knowledge, predefined concepts of every waking move. He had heard a tale of a Pwol maker who once spent seven years on a single board, devised a game so complex to even lay a piece upon it’s gilded edge was considered an endless honour a rite of passage. Upon witnessing it play for the first time an audience of thousands was astounded, impressed by the locust and the shifting nature of the game. He was not. Perfection wasn’t just a dream, it was his aspiration and to the board’s creator, their birthright. The man holed himself up in his workshop with curtains drawn, working for months onwards to be consumed by his own fervour. Jan knew the truth, they weren’t souls but machines rooted in simplicity and fixed on a preset whim. Sill was almost there, five or six squares away from the exit when the tide began to turn. Longsa seemed to be almost fuming, cursing at the iron bars in their native tongue as more desperate walls were placed. Their moves were more random, drastic, and seemingly uncalculated as Jan and Laura watched in awe. Yet these random moves almost did worse for Sill, making him stutter for a moment. Then, after some time, he too continued. A wall sprang to the left, unexpectedly Sill counterattacked, drawing them closer to the locust in an erringly calculated move.

  Sill went backwards, they went forwards, Sill dodged, they swerved. The battle infront leapt from corner to corner. Longsa teethed. Her expression was worsening; she wasn’t expecting Sill to be this good, at least she had expected an easier fight. The guards behind tensed. It was nearing the final moves now. Jan struggled to comprehend what the rock was doing, but he could tell they were trying to goad it, say anything they could to throw Sill off course. They turned for a moment, Longsa consulting the two inanimate as her voice cut through the air in a hollow whisper. Jan held his tongue, bidding for time.

  “Sill, what’s the plan here?” Jan whispered. He was on edge; if this thing failed, it would be an awkward conversation.

  Laura cast a glance at Jan, the thing was doing well. A little too well, but that would be a topic for another time.

  “Sill keep going, be careful they have a two-square lead, If you move right, you may…”

  The rock cut her off, sparking controversy among Longsa who seemed to be so used to passive and mindless inanimate.

  “Don’t worry, Commanders, this barbarian game is child’s play, still fascinating how the board works, a displacement of the interaction with the planet? Really tells you alot about the mag….”

  Jan ignored him; the thing was rambling again. Sill was doing better than expected, but at any hope they would at least lose gracefully, have some sliver of dignity to drag beneath their defeat. While Jan panicked. Laura smiled at Sill, calling her Commander, she seemed happy with this, almost smiling as the little rock spoke.

  "Listen Sill, can you do it? If you can't we are going to have to run" Jan breathed.

  After a short buzz it responded.

  "Relax, Commander, I am a TACTI resonance coordinator. Do you know what Crous used me for? _______ redacted zhzh....zhhzhz........ redacted ______________, I was even once used during the battle of ______ where I coordinated six thousand starcraft at the attack of Bruanld Bar"

  "What?" Jan muttered.

  "What's a starcraft?"

  "______, sorry Commander until you find my password it seems there is a substaintial block on information incase I fall into the hands of the Jannics" Sill responded.

  They were doomed. This thing was delusional. Starcraft? What on Jaul could that mean? If you flew too high up with magic, you wouldn't be able to breathe and would die. Every mage was taught that at basic finishing school. The primordial ether of the air dissipated too fast; it was basic science.

  Longsa was getting nervous; her eyes darted side to side. For the first time in a while, she was making the moves, becoming more direct with the inanimate and almost pressuring them for better answers. It was in clear violation of the rules, but neither of them wanted to interject.

  Eight more minutes passed. The inanimate were taking their time.

  She moved left and placed upward. Jan was uncertain why, but by placing a wall ten steps ahead, she seemed to be anticipating Sill’s progress. Laura coughed a sigh of dismay; it seemed she had been following where Jan wasn’t. Surely Sill wouldn’t have been defeated that easily? The thing served Crous? It probably spent half it’s waking life in dungeons or tavern swill, scamming the unfortunate or teething in criminality. Jan watched as a clock in a nearby corner had its hands spiral over the hour of their confrontation. Laura paused to get a drink of water, sipping from the wooden cup as a guard poured her a second glass. She left the watcher's presence and summoned ice cubes, placing them in a few drinks to get a few murmurs of appreciation. Longsa’ eyes never strayed from the board.

  At last, they seemed to reach a standstill, trading blows as each team pressed each other into a viscous circle of wall and locust. Then something strange happened. Sill went backwards, hugging the locust, almost seeming to know, anticipate its next move. Jan’s face contorted into a perplexed expression. This was something he had never seen before. The walls started to get thin as sweat dripped down Jan’s brow. If Irwain caught hold of what they had done, it might be an extra six months as a scribe. Yet Jan’s most recent paper on geofulimology had tied some unrest out of the archmage’s wrinkled face. Sill was winning.

  He turned left, right left, shouting order after order for Laura to lift the pieces and stare into Longsa’s startled eyes. The inanimate got even more desperate, struggling to react yet Jan could tell they were startled by Sill’s speed and threatened to the point they were shouting, almost relying on Longsa to play in their stead.

  Strangely enough, Sill didn’t seem to struggle to react, adapting to their newfound play in a stiff sweeping notion. The locus was closing in, almost at the inanimate while Sill moved the player forward. They did four more desperate moves, a mixture of offence and defence thrown into scattered tones as the pieces clustered together. Jan watched as through their bizarre and convoluted ways the inanimate had begun to succeed, taking back ground and almost shifting the tide against Sill. At last, the tiny rock took it’s final steps, shouting out the move in glee as the figure stepped towards the exit. In seconds, the entire board glowed with Sill’s colours, a shining ray of light seeping from the center to streak across the library's ceiling.

  They had won.

  “That was….amazing!” Sill shouted.

  “Sill, you were incredible,” Laura remarked.

  The three embraced in pure joy as they celebrated their victory. A few guards moaned as others cheered alongside them, even more quands being passed around the board. For a moment the two weren’t sure what to respond as Longsa almost flew into outrage. An officer seemed to laugh, seemingly impressed by Sill’s capabilities as the Scrier paced along the library's thin narrow halls. They stopped when she cast them a furious glance, letting the lesser lieutenants and sergeants sink back into the library to continue their cushy job of patrolling the halls. She seemed lost in thought, a part way uncertain by the events that had just transpired. Laura flicked over the pieces, picking him up carefully as she smiled at the soldier.

  “I believe we had a deal?” Laura inquired.

  The young scribe gleamed, as Longsa almost ate her words. She looked at Sill in wonder, a glimpse of realization almost flickering off her brow.

  “You swore an oath Scrier,” Jan remarked.

  The words caught her off-guard, and for a moment Longsa saw her fingers clench, they were moving, unconsciously drifting towards her sheathed sword. Her eyes seemed hawk-like, moth twisting into hollow words.

  “I don’t understand, they’ve never”

  The other guards and librarians who were watching began to leave. They trickled away towards the book-ridden shelves as Jan and Laura silently waited.

  “They’ve never lost…” she repeated.

  “I don’t understand. It said it was its first time?”

  “Who was that?” Longsa asked, pointing at Sill.

  Jan stood up, robes draped against the ancient carpet.

  “It’s time for us to leave,” he said with renewed confidence.

  Sill shouted again, backing up his young commander as the two made their way towards the exit. For a moment, it seemed like Longsa was going to stop them. All it would take was one snap, one tiny utterance of a word, and they could be in chains yet she stood still. Some tinge of honour, of solidarity flashed through her veins as she seemed utterly distraught. Slowly, the soldier flicked her hand, causing the library doors to swing open as she collapsed defeated into a nearby chair. Pale features were complemented by a peculiar expression, one wrought with both privilege and duty.

  “Your victory may not be the best for you, scribes. This city is dying, it’s people are an ailment, you could have escaped by enlisting, you would have had protection…..tell me what Irwain plans Jan and there may be hope, that is our deal…I’ll come to you in a few days time…” She seemed almost to ramble.

  Black hair static in the library’s damp halls she turned to leave.

  “Oh and I'll be watching,” Longsa’s voice rang.

  Once outside, Sill burst into excitement, uttering incomprehensible words as Jan and Laura basked in his amusement. Wind whistled along the street as dusk began.

  “I did it!! I actually did it!”

  “You don’t understand, I….I feel I feel”

  “Feel what?” Jan asked.

  “This, it’s strange, I think my memory circuits must be broken, I feel proud!”

  The two were halfway down Kag’s market center, more travellers flocking towards fruit stalls and repair shops as a small parade flocked down a narrow marble street. Banners and kites soared among wispy clouds as the group paused to watch one of the city's many newer celebrations, a culinary fair that in years prior had drawn thousands to taste a world beyond rural squalor. A few children brushed past Jan’s side, causing his robe to flip back as more merchants trickled down to sell their wares. Laura laughed as a peddler shoved chocolate muffins at a customer, barely taking a second to comprehend the coins in his palm. Pumpkin patties and assorted vegetable pies marked varied stalls, an odd assortment for less fortunate participants and those staying away from the more luxurious foreign foods.

  The city was in full swing, a masterful display of its versatility, yet Longsa’s words still marred Jan’s mind.

  “How did you beat them, Sill?”

  “It was easy, their language that gibberish, it’s just a scrambled version of this common speech, ______ zh zh sorry my memory is a little rough, I swapped each vowel to alter phonetics and then shifted”

  “See what was once a single, wall became wmll and was then shifted one to the right in your alphabet to form xnmm, phonetically altered to confuse their opponent, yet still rather lazy”

  Jan nodded.

  “Once I decoded their own strategy, I exploited the game's underdeveloped system. By sticking close to the locus I could force its hand and cause the piece to follow the mission's designs.”

  It all seemed like gibberish to the two scribes yet they had a more profound appreciation for the tiny rock’s skill. To defeat both a general and a high priest at a game once renowned for its strategic worth was incredible.

  “That was great, thank you, Commanders!” Sill spoke silently.

  “Why did we do that again?” Sill asked.

  “To get information on Crous” Jan replied slowly.

  “Why do we need to do that?” the rock asked again.

  This time, Laura replied; her eyes seemed to sting for a moment, it was a cloud that hovered over both of them. The recognition of loss, the longing for a world that would never be. The rock didn’t seem to like the answer. Afterwards, the two kept walking and Sill asked other questions.

  “Can we play that again, Commanders?”

  “What?” the scribes asked.

  “Pwol!” the young rock screamed.

  “You wouldn't be a bad opponent if someone reactivated you, Commander! As a TACTI unit, all I need is some jumper cables, and I could get your battery back online?” it added slowly.

  He didn't know what to say, Jan looking into Laura’s eyes for a convenient excuse that didn't fathom. Reactivated? What did it mean reactivated? Battery? Was Sill talking about attacking someone? Perhaps they should be more careful around the rock.

  “Well can we at least buy a Pwol board?” Sill asked again. It was clearly ecstatic.

  “To uh…… study the jannic culture, of course, due to the time distortion, those in orbit have very little knowledge” Sill added hesitantly. It seemed oddly out of character, lines that were human, responsive.

  The two shrugged; at last, Sill was wearing off from its inanimate ways. Socializing must have at least helped the creature, and its condition showed clear signs of improvement. Still time distortion and orbit were odd. Perhaps it was some allegory to the drudgery of its imprisonment in Crous's maniacal hands.

  “Actually, Sill, I have one at my grandmother's house. She used to play quite often when she was young so why don't we show you that later?” Laura responded. She was being kind, but regardless, it was the truth. They tried to imagine playing pwol again. Struggling through the boredom as the pieces shifted across the enchanted wood. Sill likely screaming in enthusiasm as the two made just enough turns to be barely called an effort while letting what little remained of their brains to float into the soaring clouds. Either that or they would play randomly while being distracted by a common itch.

  “Oh and Sill, I think we learned something today” Jan added trying to change the subject.

  “What Commander?! What?” the rock uttered in an excited tone.

  “Whoever you were before you became a stone, you were really damn good at Pwol!”

  The two laughed at this, letting the granite slab rant more about how it wasn't an inanimate and instead following some primordial “code of honour” or code of rules? Something to do with code, but Jan couldn't quite understand it. It seemed what little memory the pwol had brought back had vanished without a trace, and it was back to its despondent ways.

  Six smearlon glided behind a merchant, large, imposing, frog-like creatures, each having saddles on their backs, treated like four-legged pack animals. The three approached a food stall, having the worker enthusiastically greeted them in an instant. The scribes were undeniably hungry, Jan’s stomach growling as he stared at the baguette's glowing form. He was searching for a way to take Sill’s comments off Laura’s mind. It was beautiful, soft easy-tear bread freshly baked and seasoned with a garlic hue. Little flecks of salt clung to either edge, a clear butter glaze on its top. Slowly, he reached into his pocket. His hand was feeling for a coin when a single expression struck his face.

  “I’ve been robbed.”

  “What?” Sill and Laura muttered in shock.

  “My coins, they’re gone.”

  Laura laughed. Knowing that Jan barely kept any money on him at all. Sill seemed more outraged, muttering about half-cooked Jannic laws.

  “We’ll, Jan, that isn’t the best, but we have to get alot more than those three quands.”

  “How much do we need?”

  “About 30,000,” She whispered.